Three Nights
by sitabethel
Summary: The King of Thieves attends a festival in disguise and spends three wonderful nights with an intriguing stranger. Casteshipping/Mature Fic


*****I don't think I have it in me to write happy casteshipping, and I'm sorry. While things don't end as badly as they could, this definitely doesn't have the usual happily ever after vibe of a typical sitabethel(TM) fic.*****

* * *

Even the thief enjoyed a good festival. It was one of the few times he allowed himself to get drunk and mingle with the crowds and allow proximity between him and other human beings.

However, he didn't allow them to touch him. No one had touched him since his mother had last hugged him before shoving him into a small, cramped hiding space between walls that night of fire and gold.

But the presence of people, the ability to pretend that he was like them, and to walk among them, was something even the King of Thieves needed from time to time.

Yet it wouldn't serve to appear _as_ the King of Thieves, so Bakura had purchased a heavy, black wig and hid his starlight-colored hair. He lined his eyes with kohl and contoured his cheeks with rouge and tinted his lips. He wore gold, and a pleated shenti, and used perfume he'd stolen from a old pharaoh's tomb. As Bakura caught his reflection in river water, he thought he looked more attractive than any king or palace-priest. He walked towards the nearest city in the direction of the setting sun.

He heard the music long before he reached the city gates. Girls with painted bodies danced in the streets. Small garlands of celery flowers decorated their ankles and wrists. A younger, beautiful girl reached out for Bakura, but he shunned her with a turn of his head and sought out a place with food and wine.

The food was good, goat rubbed with spices and served with bulbs of roasted garlic and leeks. Bakura ate his fill, and drank more than his fill of pomegranate wine before heading back out into the streets, taking a jar of wine with him for the road.

He always found cities more bearable with a jar of wine in his hand. Bakura dissolved into the crowds, enjoying the music and the dancing. After some time he saw people gathered to watch a mage perform tricks. Bakura got as close as he could without pressing into anyone's shoulders.

A large servant with an ax stood in front of a bull. With a single blow, he severed the bull's head from the rest of its body. The crowd gasped, whispering and wondering what the mage would do.

The man rolled up the sleeves to his linen robe and lifted up the bullhead, careful to keep blood from splattering onto his clothes. He pressed the head back to its corpses, chanting an incantation, and the bull jerked, scrambling its bulk up to his feet and shaking out like a jackal fresh from the Nile.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" A voice said next to Bakura.

He jerked reflexively from the sound, turning and seeing an attractive stranger standing next to him. The man also wore a wig. It had to be, there was no way that his black hair was that spiky on its own. Bakura wondered if the stranger was hiding light hair beneath the wig like he himself was, but he couldn't dwell on it long because he was lost in the man's eyes. They were a deep, rich purple unlike anything Bakura had ever seen before.

"I don't think it's real," Bakura said.

"Oh? Did he have another bull hiding under his robes?"

"I'm not sure how he did it, but bringing back the dead can't be that easy."

"It's only a cow, not a man." The stranger leaned a little closer. "Wouldn't it be nice, though? If it were so easy to bring back our lost loved ones."

Bakura sighed, thinking about his mother. "Yes. That would be nice." His jaw hardened. "But all we can do is remember them and do our best to make sure their souls pass on."

"Yes, that's true." He nodded. "My name's Anen."

"Bakari," Bakura lied to hide his identity. Bakari meant _noble oath_ , and it suited him because he had made such an oath- to avenge his people.

"That is a beautiful name." Anen looked away. "It suits you."

Bakura grinned at the compliment. "Then it would suit you as well. Your eyes are darker than the lotus flowers that grow on the Nile."

"Ah, but yours are the color of the stars. You've been blessed by the gods."

Bakura snorted. He loathed the gods and the pharaohs that served them.

"I'm out of wine," he said, an excuse to get away.

Anen offered his own jar. "Please, share with me."

Bakura eyed the jar, wary.

"It's the harvest time. A time for sharing and celebration."

"Don't say it like that. It sounds pathetic." Bakura rolled his eyes, but took the jar and a good-sized drink from it.

"Does it? Maybe I've had too much, then."

"Or I haven't had enough," Bakura laughed at himself, a good sign that he'd had plenty.

"Then let's find some more and walk somewhere less crowded." Anen smiled at him.

That sounded good. Bakura was thirsty for wine that night, and the crowd was growing too thick as the mage continued with his tricks. Bakura followed Anen, passing the wine between them as they walked. They finished it, bought another jar to share, and ended up on the outskirts of the city where there were less people.

"I love the night sky." Anen said.

Bakura looked up, appreciating the beauty of the stars for the first time since he was a child. His vengeance consumed him so entirely that sometimes he forget to look up at the sky and see it for what it was.

"Yeah, it's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," Anen said, with a bold, almost arrogant confidence.

Bakura looked at him. A little surprised by the comment, but mostly … stirred. He'd never considered a wife, figured hate and vengeance were his only lovers, but something about the way Anen was looking at him made Bakura's stomach flutter, and his groin feel warm. He squirmed, trying to adjust his awakening cock so that it didn't bulge.

Anen chuckled. He lifted up their jar of wine a dropped it onto the street. The wine stained the road crimson for a moment before soaking into the sand.

"Why the fuck did you drop the wine? It was still half way full!"

"Oh?" Anen raised an eyebrow. "If you want another taste of wine, you could always suck it off of my lips."

"What?" Bakura stepped back, shocked.

It felt a bit like a fairy tale, Set and Horus feeding each other lettuce leaves. That story had ended badly for Set, but still he couldn't take his eyes off of Anen's lips. Bakura licked his own, as if tasting the wine Anen proposed Bakura drink.

"I know you like the idea," Anen said. "Your lips grew plump at the very thought of it."

Bakura touched his bottom lip, as if to check the truth of Anen's statement, but he didn't need to, he knew the words were true.

Anen took an assertive step forward. "Or if you prefer, I could drink from your lips."

Bakura closed his eyes, lips parting on their own, but despite his body saying yes, yes, yes, part of his mind screamed no.

"Don't touch me," he whispered, meaning it and not meaning it at the same time.

"No? Are you afraid the gods will be angry?"

"Fuck the gods." Bakura shook his head.

"Then what's wrong?"

"I … can't. I'm cursed."

It wasn't a lie. He was cursed, cursed to hear his family screaming every time he went back to Kul Elna, cursed to forsake his own life and happiness in order to avenge his people.

"You're hiding your hair, just like I am, aren't you?"

Bakura nodded.

"Is Bakari your real name?"

"No."

"Anen isn't my name, either."

Bakura looked at Anen, feeling, for the first time since childhood, that he'd found a person that might understand him somewhat. Even if it was only because he had strange hair and eyes and had to hide himself when he went to town.

"I won't ask," Bakura said.

"Thank you." The first hint of of doubt flicked in Anen's violet eyes. "I still wish I could kiss you."

Bakura reached out his hand, hovering his fingers close to Anen's face. He held his breath, letting his fingers sink lower and just barely drag down Anen's high cheekbone.

Anen closed his eyes, sighing.

Bakura's fingertips felt like they were on fire. It'd be too long, too long without any sort of touch, and that first graze of Anen's cheek broke a wall within Bakura, and he was greedy, greedy, greedy, and needed to feel a body against his. He bridged the gap between them, leaned down, and pressed his nose against Anen's, shaking from the mild contact.

Anen lifted up his face, cupping the back of Bakura's head and touching their lips together instead of their noses. Bakura's arms threaded around Anen's waist and their bare chests pressed together. Bakura moaned loudly as the warmth of another body touched him for the first time in almost his whole life.

"Bakari," Anen whispered.

"What?" He snarled, feeling feral from the touch, like a beast wanting to bury himself into Anen's flesh.

"Come to the inn with me. Stay the night."

"I…" he felt like he shouldn't, but he _wanted it_.

Anen started running his hands up and down Bakura's chest, as greedy to feel Bakura as Bakura was to be felt.

"You're so gorgeous. I've never seen anyone as gorgeous as you. I want to spend the night worshipping you like a god."

Bakura couldn't help but smirk at that. It sounded nice, and it was a fertility/harvest festival after all. Maybe it'd be okay- once- _once_ \- just one night he wanted to block out the screams of his village and enjoy his own body, and Anen's body as well.

"I have to leave before dawn," Bakura warned.

Even disguised as he was, he didn't want to run into any guards.

"Okay, follow me. I know a inn that keeps its secrets."

Bakura did follow him, and Anen paid for a room and another jar of wine, but as soon as they were in private they forgot the wine and groped each other instead. They crashed onto the bed, grabbing each other's jeweled belts and tossing them on the floor so they could unwrap their shentis.

"You're like a bull." Anen grinned, squeezing Bakura's cock.

The slender, delicate fingers teased Bakura's shaft, palm brushing against Bakura's head. Bakura cried out at the touch, his whole body alive in a way it never felt before. He felt the pleasure spin out of control, and after only a moment Bakura screamed and seed poured over Anen's hand.

"Fuck," Bakura hissed, understanding that he shouldn't have emptied himself that quickly.

Anen blushed. "That egar?"

Bakura looked away. "I do not let people touch me- at all."

"Surely you wrestle with the men of your village." Anen laughed. "To be as strong as you are."

"I have no village!" Bakura shouted without meaning to.

Anen flinched, fear glinting in his eyes along with the flame from the flax oil lamp.

"Look, I'm sorry," Bakura muttered but his voice was still bitter. "My village was burnt by … savages."

"Oh, I'm … my sorrow goes out to you." Anen brought up his hand, licking a dab of seed off of his hand. "You're sweet to taste. I'd like to taste more of you."

Bakura looked at Anen, a little confused. Anen pressed Bakura into their pallet and began kissing his chest and rolling his tongue down Bakura's stomach. Bakura's breath hitched, he arched into Anen's mouth. His cock was shrinking back to its normal size, but Anen opened his mouth wide and began to suck.

Bakura's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He'd never felt anything like it. Anen's mouth was so wet and so kind that it only took a few minutes for Bakura to grow stiff and ready again. Still Anen sucked, moaning as much his could with his lips sealed around Bakura's cock.

"Aaaaah!" Bakura heard himself wailing. "That's … that's … I'm-"

The second time he came was much better. He had time to realize what was happening and relish the experience. Anen swallowed every last drop, grinning up and Bakura afterward and licking his lips.

Bakura knew he was flushed from orgasm, but he was also embarrassed that he'd came so soon again. He turned away from Anen.

Anen crawled closer to Bakura, reaching out and guiding Bakura's face so that they were looking into each other's eyes.

"Don't hide your face. I want to stare at it when I take you."

Bakura opened his mouth to argue. No way he was going to be _taken_ , but he'd already came twice, so it wasn't like he could lead. He also got the impression that Anen was experienced while, like it it not, Bakura wasn't.

So when Anen parted Bakura's legs, Bakura relaxed and didn't resist. He looked away again, but turned back before Anen could complain. He saw Anen smiling at him. Bakura felt vulnerable, part of him wanted to bolt, but he took a deep breath and attempted to smile back.

Again Anen ran his hands up and down Bakura's body. This time it wasn't only Bakura's chest, but his hips, pelvis, and thighs as well. The attention made Bakura breathe heavily. His cock was soft, but his body still responded to Anen's touch.

Anen sighed, his eyes soft and focused on Bakura's figure as he traced along every curve of muscle. He fondled Bakura's balls, and Bakura thought he might be up for a third round after all.

"Just a moment." Anen crawled off of the mattress and went to a chest in the corner of their room. He pulled out a small clay jar.

"What's that?"

"Almond oil."

Bakura tilted his head, wondering why Anen wanted almond oil. He figured it out soon enough when Anen coated his fingers and pushed two into Bakura's asshole. Bakura clenched on reflex, gripping the linen below them and squeezing his legs shut.

Anen pulled away and rested his hands on Bakura's knees, separating his legs again.

"You need to relax."

"Easier said than done!" Bakura barked, flushed with anger and embarrassment.

Anen bent down and kissed up Bakura's shins, an arrogant smirk decorating his face.

"I remember my first time. It'll feel weird at first, but after a while you start to like it."

Bakura scowled.

"Or you can use your mouth like I did."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest. He felt like if he didn't go through with it, it'd be like losing a game, and the King of Thieves only played games when he wanted to win.

"Use more oil," he demanded

"If you'd like," Anen poured oil directly onto Bakura's flesh.

He spread it with his fingertips, teasing Bakura's entrance but not entering. Bakura's breath caught in his throat. It was nice when Anen was simply touching. The second time he only snuck one finger inside Bakura, wiggling it side to side and then sliding in and out.

Bakura felt a burning in his chest before he remembered to exhale and inhale. Anen added a finger, and Bakura had to force himself to keep breathing. Over time, he started to relax, his body growing used to the sensation of being entered.

"Good … good," Anen whispered. "Ready to try?" he asked.

"Yeah," Bakura sighed, already clenching again at the thought but trying to stay calm.

Anen was not "like a bull," but Bakura found himself clutching at the linen in anticipation long before Anen even finished oiling his cock.

However, when Anen pushed inside of Bakura, he felt huge- not a bull but a hippopotamus.

" _Ah! Fuck! Nggggh!_ " Bakura panted as soon as Atem was inside, curling up.

"Relax," Atem whispered.

"Hurry up and make this feel good!" Bakura ordered.

Anen laughed like the command was pillow talk. Bakura gnashed his teeth, panting through his nose and trying to ride out the awkward and discomforting sensation.

Anen started rocking his hips, slamming into Bakura repeatedly. Bakura's breaths were short and hard. His hands went from clutching the blanket to clutching Anen's shoulders. There was … something … tempting about the feeling. The in and out of Anen's cock made Bakura's stomach dance inside, and the pressure made his cock start to swell again despite his previous orgasms. Bakura's grunts of discomfort slowed, then became less frequent, then a few soft _ahhs_ of contentment got mixed in.

Anen pressed his lips to the shell of Bakura's ear. "Well? Is it starting to feel good?"

"I don't feel like I'm going to shit anymore," Bakura said.

"Sorry, I should have warned you." Anen laughed.

"It's not funny."

"Everyone feels like that at first."

Bakura gave him a suspicious look, and then he realized that Anen had already known that there'd be oil in the chest, and that he must of done this before.

"Do you do this every festival?"

"My first time was last festival."

Bakura nodded. It made sense somehow. Any further questions Bakura may have had started to fade as each thrust into his body felt better and better. His body unwound, finally relaxing in Anen's embrace. He spread out his feet, readjusting and allowing Anen more room to move. Bakura started to roll up when Anen slammed in, bringing more intensity to each thrust.

Anen groaned, his eyes losing focus. He sought out Bakura's mouth again, kissing while thrusting, and Bakura could instinctively tell that Anen was close by the way he felt inside Bakura's body.

Bakura broke their kiss. "Could you … uh, I'd like it if-"

His words faltered, but Anen's smirk returned.

"You're hard. Perhaps you wanted me to stroke you again?"

Bakura nodded, wrapping his legs around Anen's waist.

"So?" Anen asked, wrapping his hand around Bakura's cock and squeezing as he pulled up and then slammed his fist down even as he slammed his cock into Bakura's ass.

"Yes," Bakura said, knowing what Anen wanted to hear. "Yes! Yes! It's good, you fucking whore! It's good!"

"I told you it would be." Anen sped up his strokes.

Bakura couldn't keep from turning his head and closing his eyes. There were too many sensations and he needed to feel them. His third and final orgasm was slow building and fierce, rising, rising, rising, holding, and then finally hitting a crescendo even as Anen started to moan.

Anen's thrust grew slick. Bakura opened his eyes in time to see Anen's face knot up with his own climax. Then the wrinkles on his brow smoothed and he was easing himself on top of Bakura's chest.

"You said you'd stay until dawn, right?" Anen asked, drawing hieroglyphs on Bakura's sweat-glazed chest.

"I said before dawn." He sighed. "Just before dawn."

"Okay," Anen said, his voice melancholy. "What about tomorrow night?"

"What about tomorrow night?"

"The festival lasts for three nights."

Bakura thought about it. He usually didn't linger at any one city or town for long. It was too dangerous. Even if he wasn't recognized as the Thief King, white hair was despised by most people, and the longer he stayed, the better the chance of someone seeing under the hood he wore to town when it was too hot for a wig.

"Please," Anen asked.

Bakura could tell he wasn't the sort that was used to having to ask for things. He must have been a noble's son that liked to sneak out for thrills and male lovers. That's why he had to use a fake name like Bakura did.

Nevertheless, Bakura's body hummed with pleasure. He was calm, and drowsy, and why not three nights? He'd disappear after the festival and he never had to see Anen again. He wasn't forgetting about his vengeance, just allowing himself a proper festival before he continued with his plans.

"Meet me after sun down at the same spot where you dropped the wine."

Anen sighed in relief and closed his eyes. "Thank you, Bakari."

Bakura almost whispered his real name. Part of him wanted Anen to know it, but he bit his tongue. He couldn't put Anen in danger by giving away his identity. Instead, he hugged his arms around Anen's back and fell asleep.

* * *

It was the first time Atem woke up to being held, usually he had to sneak away as soon as his tryst was over. Atem heard himself whimper as he came to and felt the warmth of another body and a pair of strong arms around him.

Atem opened his eyes, staring at the brown chest beneath him. His eyes looked up. He wanted to see Bakari's face as he slept. Atem gasped.

Between their romp and a good night's sleep, Bakari's wig had gone askew. Near his right temple, a lock of starlight colored hair that matched Bakari's eyes stuck to his forehead. Atem reached out and pulled the strip of hair through his fingertips.

"Dammit, I slept too long," Bakura whispered, eyes blinking open. "I need to go."

"It's so beautiful," Anen gasped, transfixed by the silvery white lock of hair. "Is it all this color?"

Bakari jerked into a seated position and pulled his hair out of Atem's grasp.

"It was already loose." Atem said, feeling guilty anyway.

"Gods be damned." Bakari re-adjusted the wig and tucked the beam of starlight out of sight.

"Let me see."

"No."

"That wig is cruel to you. It hides your glory."

" _Glory_ like that in this city gets one stoned to death."

"That … can't be true."

Bakari snorted at him, standing up and dressing. "I figured. You're some rich brat that lives in the palace and sucks on honey while the smaller towns starve."

"No. It's not like that at all."

"You know your way around a bed, but not around Kemmet." Bakari clicked his belt in place and turned to leave.

"Tonight? Right?" Atem asked, fidgeting with the wrinkles from their sleeping linens. His expression softened. "I enjoyed last night."

Bakari tched, and waved Atem away. "Yeah, i told you already."

Atem watched him go, wishing he could see the silvery-white hair in the sunlight.

"Dammit," Atem swore, realizing that they'd start looking for him at the palace soon. He raced back to the palace walls, sneaking back inside through a crawl space that he'd discovered when he was a child. Atem hid his festival clothes and wig in the garden and put on the royal robes he'd hidden the day before. Then Atem continued to walk around the garden as if he'd been there all morning.

The day dragged on forever. By the time the dust from Ra's chariot clouded the sky to a rusty orange, Atem was ready to scream. He was relieved when he could finally sneak away from the priests and nobles and sneak back into the city.

He found Bakari sitting in a corner by himself eating a haunch of meat and drinking beer.

"Hungry?" He offered the roasted leg to Atem.

Atem stifled a frown and shook his head no. The food looked vulgar and so did Bakari's eating habits as he took gaping bites and allowed grease to trickle down his chin.

"At least drink something," Bakari said as he watched people starting to pour onto the streets.

"Why beer?"

"Tastes good with the food."

Atem nodded as he sat next to Bakari. He took the jar and drank from it.

"I thought we'd go straight to the hotel," Atems said.

Bakari's laughter sounded like a dog's bark, and he chucked his haunch bone towards and scrappy little beggar that was sniffing nearby. The dog stole the bone and disappeared into the shadows.

"Never enough scraps," Bakari said.

"What do you mean?"

"The mutt looked like he hadn't eaten in a week."

"Someone needs to adopt him."

Bakari laughed at him again. "Then go get him."

"What? I can't take him home."

"If not you, then who?"

"I don't know." Atem did frown this time. "Someone."

"If not a nobel's brat with more wealth than half this city, then who?"

"You." Atem narrowed his eyebrows. "Your shenti is pleated and your belt is gold and jade. You can afford to feed a dog."

"I stole this belt," Bakari said darkly, eyeing Atem for his response.

Atem's eyes widened. He tried to hide it, but knew he failed. He was appalled by the thought of thievery. "Ammit will eat your soul for that."

"She'll eat your soul for fucking men."

Atem didn't have a reply for that. "I don't often … it's lonely."

"Don't make excuses to me. I already told you that I don't give a fuck about the gods- or their judgements."

"Why are we even talking about this? I just wanted to have another nice night, not argue about a flea-ridden pest."

"Do you see human beggars as flea-ridden pests as well?"

"Some. The ones that are lazy and refuse to work."

"And which ones are those?"

"The … ones that sit around all day? How should I know?"

"Yes, how _should_ you know? You live in privilege."

"So are you going to hate me? Just because of who I was born as?"

"I'm trying to open your eyes."

"I rather you open my legs."

Bakari furrowed his brow. "There are whores if you want a quick casual fuck without conversation."

"But I like _you_."

Bakari snorted and gestured up and down to show himself off. "You like this. Not me."

"That's unfair."

"What do you know about me, then?"

"You like dogs."

Bakari tried to hide his smile, but Atem could tell his answer had amused him. Atem used the moment to scoot closer.

"Please, take me to bed. I promise once we're done I'll be more fit for conversation."

"Fine. Fine." Bakari stood up, offering a hand to Atem. As they walked, Bakari continued to talk. "Don't you see how it is? There's not enough scraps. People are starving. No one can feed a dog from an empty plate."

"Not everyone is starving."

"That's true, but the gap between the two groups is wide. How is that Ma'at?"

Atem looked at the city streets, seeing them a little differently for the first time. It seemed like two cities both at once. The bright lit city of the festival and the shadowed corners.

"You may be right. I'll have to think about what you've said." He slipped his arm around Bakari's waist. "Afterward, of course."

"Tch."

Atem frowned. "Don't you want to?"

"Sure, that's why I'm here."

"You just seem… a little distant."

"You're rich. I'm a thief. You know this can't last past this festival."

Atem sighed. He knew, and yet he couldn't quite accept it.

"Couldn't you find an honest occupation?"

"There's something I have to do. Until then, I can't spend my life toiling in hopes of getting enough to eat."

"It's dangerous. I don't like the thought of you hurt."

Bakari laughed at Atem's statement. They reached the hotel. Atem paid. In their room Bakari disrobed, grabbed the oil, and sat on the pallet with his legs spread.

"You don't want me to do it?"

"I want to try on my own." Bakari hissed as he shoved two gleaming fingers into his own ass. "Don't worry. You'll get your turn."

Atem pouted, kneeling beside Bakari. "Isn't there something I can do to help?"

Bakari's breath hitched and his eyes glazed over. Atem blinked, wondering what had caused the change. Bakari had his fingers stuffed to the final knuckle and he was working furiously on himself. His cock was already stiff and ready, and his breathing was low and heavy in a way Atem hadn't managed to cause the night before.

"Ohh!" He gasped.

"Bakari?"

"Touch me."

"What?"

"Anen, touch me. Please … please."

Anen's mouth dropped. Bakari had managed to make himself beg. Anen poured a bit of oil into his palm. He glided his hand up and down Bakari's shaft.

"Mmmmm … yes," Bakari whispered, eyes closing to near slits. "Faster."

Anen obeyed, jerking at Bakari's cock until Bakari was pressing his hips up and down in his own rhythm.

"Mmmmm-" he moaned again, "oh yes, oh yes- _oh yesss!"_ Bakari shot out more seed than Atem had ever seen as he came, and came, and came, and came.

Bakari lay back, sighing in bliss. "That was good."

"What did you do?" Atem asked.

"What do you mean?" Bakari asked.

"I've never seen anyone … enjoy it that much? What did you do?"

"I just … touched what felt good?" Bakari answered with a questioning tone. He spread his legs out further, giving Atem a look of desire that no living person could refuse. "Well? Come on. I said I'd let you have a turn. I want to feel that good again."

Atem swallowed, not sure if he knew _how_ to make Bakari feel _that_ good. Still he couldn't resist the urge to try as he oiled his cock.

Bakari sighed when Atem entered, squeezing in time with Atem's thrusts and making Atem go wild with lust. He went faster, harder. Bakari looked up at him, drowsy and satisfied, enjoying himself, but not in the same way as before.

"Tell me what to do," Atem said.

"You're already doing great." Bakari sighed, arching a little into the thrusts and still _squeezing_.

He was squeezing Atem's cock with his ass, and Atem didn't think he'd last more than a few minutes if he didn't do something.

"Bakari…"

"Keep going."

Atem shifted, hiking up Bakari's thighs and thrusting deeper. Bakari began to grunt, heavy and low in his throat. Each little noise was a victory for Atem, but he wanted more. He wanted Bakari wild and clawing at the linen below them.

Atem pulled out, dropping down to Bakari's half-hard cock. He started sucking vigorously, and Bakari moaned. When Bakari was long and tall once again, Atem backed away, wiping his mouth dry.

"What do you want?"

"For you to fuck me," Bakari whispered, sleepy eyes trained on Atem.

"How?"

"I don't fucking know how. I've only done this once before!" he growled, his seductive look darkening as he grew angry.

"You said you touched what felt good. How do I touch you like that?"

"I…" Bakari looked around, like he was searching for the missing piece of the Millennium Puzzle- not that he'd know of the Item that Atem kept hidden with his court clothes, but that was the comparison that came to mind to Atem.

"Try it like this?" Bakari flipped over on his stomach, spreading his legs wide again. "Angle down when you thrust."

Atem was eager to obey, soaking Bakari with extra oil and then plunging back into his tight heat. He could tell with his very first thrust that he was doing better. Bakari gasped, then moaned, then started to scream into the linen. Bakari pushed back with almost the same force that Atem used to slam forward. Their bodies fought each other, sweat and heat and pleasure with each clash of their bodies. Bakari arched, and Atem watch the ripples of his brown back as he came onto the pallet below them.

Then Atem was free to let his own pleasure consume him, and it did consume him. The beauty of Bakari, the strength of him, the way he controlled their lovemaking despite Atem being "dominant".

And then they were in each other's arms again, and Atem realized once again that this was the best part.

"I'm sorry I was distracted earlier," Atem apologized, seeing now that he should have enjoyed the conversation while they had time to talk. Now they'd fall asleep and Bakari would sneak away with the dawn.

"You're a rich, spoiled brat that's used to always getting his way."

"You're right. I am pampered at home, and I can see that it has spoiled me."

Bakari laughed. Atem felt Bakari's chest shake with the movement and he smiled at the comforting feeling.

"I'm surprised you agree. I thought you'd argue some more."

"I should go back and find the dog."

"It's not the dog, Anen. It's the fact that there aren't enough scraps."

"But how can I change it? This is the way the gods made the world."

"Is it the way the gods made the world? Or is it the way the Pharaoh made the world?"

Atem held his breath as Bakari mentioned _the Pharaoh_. When he thought he could control his voice, he asked, "Don't they amount to the same thing?"

"Maybe. I hope they all plunge into the deepest darkness and suffer there until the end of everything."

"How … can you hate them that much?" Atem asked, feeling cold and sick in his gut.

"I don't want to talk about it. Not tonight. This festival is my only reprieve from my spite. Let me spend it in bed with you." Bakari sighed. "I haven't known peace since my village burned, but when I hold you, I can imagine it."

Atem knew he should question further, to understand what Bakari had meant about his spite, but Atem was content, and warm, and sleepy, and Bakari's arms felt amazing around him, so he curled against Bakari's chest and fell asleep.

* * *

Entering the city gates for the third and final night of the festival was bittersweet for Bakura. The experience was priceless, and Bakura would hold it in his memories for the rest of his life, but knowing that it was the last night he'd ever be able to feel like he did was mournful.

If only there was a way to lay his hate to rest. Did a world exist where Bakura could leave the screams of his people behind? Convince his spoiled, high-born lover to steal a bag of gold and abscond with Bakura to the far away lands to the north?

No.

There was no such world for Bakura. His fickle, rich lover was squeamish to the idea of theft- Bakura saw it in his face when he'd mentioned stealing- and Bakura himself could never break his _noble oath_. All that was left to do was enjoy his last night with Anen.

They met at their usual spot. This time Anen didn't turn his face away from Bakura's offered food. They ate, and drank, and talked over the sounds of the festival.

"Let's dance," Anen said, standing up and offering Bakura his hand.

"In public?" Bakura stared up at him, smiling at how the light played in Anen's violet eyes.

"There's plenty of people dancing in the streets as a group." Anen winked as he helped Bakura to his feet. "We'll just be part of that group. Who will notice if we're standing a little close?"

Bakura grinned at the idea and followed Anen into the streets. Bakura didn't often have a chance to move freely, but years of fighting and thieving had shaped his body into a dexterous, nimble form and he took to the dance as if it were his birthright.

He forgot about vengeance and even the passage of time as he moved with the others. After an hour Anen leaned close to Bakura's ears, standing on his tiptoes to reach him. "Let's go."

Bakura nodded. It felt like the right time to head to their hotel room. Unlike the night before when Anen had been all rushing and impatience, this time he'd actually spent time with Bakura enjoying his company and not just his body. Because of that important difference, Bakura was eager to give his body up to Anen, unlike the night before.

Once alone they stood together and kissed. The lamp light washed them in soft light and made Anen's eyes twinkle.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered. "I just wish I could see your hair. I want to worship you as the gods made you."

Bakari sighed. He wasn't about to get back into why he hated the gods or why he shouldn't take off his wig. Anen did look cute when he was needy, however, and Bakura couldn't help himself as he reached up and pulled the wig away from his head, shaking out his silvery hair and feeling relieved without the stifling heat of the wig.

Anen gasped, eyes huge. "My gods … you're more beautiful than I imagined."

"Shut-up," Bakura muttered.

"It's not flattery." Anen raised up his hand. "May I?"

Bakura nodded and felt Anen's fingers carding through his hair. He closed his eyes, enjoying the light run of fingers across his scalp.

"That's nice," he whispered. He trembled. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it. "You're the only one … who's ever touched me. You're the only one who ever will."

Anen grabbed Bakura and pulled him close until their bodies warmed each other. "Come home with me. I'll find you work in the castle. You don't have to steal. You'll have a good life. We can meet in secret. Every night. I can't lose you!"

"I wish I could." Bakura lifted up Anen's face and kissed him as deeply as he knew how. When he pulled away, he touched Anen's lips with his thumb, sealing the kiss forever into Anen's lips. "But it can't be."

Tears glimmered in the lamp light as they rolled down Anen's cheek. "Why not?"

"There's something I have to do. I'm sorry." Bakura kissed him again, refusing to quit even after his lips burned from the friction. He pulled back, pressing his nose against Anen's. "I've never had regrets before … but I regret that this festival won't last forever."

Anen grabbed Bakura's hair and smashed their mouths together. His kisses were desperate; the tears didn't leave his cheeks. Bakura returned each kiss with the same amount of passion and ferocity. They struggled out of their clothes, and they struggled to grab each other as they continued to kiss. By the time Anen ran to get the oil, Bakura was already breathless and panting.

"Thank you, for giving me this gift." Anen returned, combing Bakura's hair with his fingers again.

Bakura wasn't sure if he meant the three nights or the sight of his hair. Maybe it was both. Bakura took Anen's hand and kissed his palm, resting it on his cheek and marveling at what it felt like to have skin against his skin.

"Show me how you did it last night." Anen grinned as he opened the jar of oil.

Bakura nodded, crawling into Anen's lap so they could get close.

"Push in," Bakura said, breath hitching as Anen obeyed. "Okay, good, yes. Now deeper."

Again, Anen obeyed, and Bakura threw his head back, sighing as the pleasure already started to heat him up inside.

"Okay, curve your fingers up and seek out- there!"

"This?" Anen asked, stroking Bakura inside.

"Gods yes!" Bakura clenched his jaw, growling in pleasure as instinct made him ride Anen's fingers to help push more weight on the area that sent Set's monsoon lightning all throughout his body. "Anen!"

Anen leaned in and sucked Bakura's throat as he continued to finger him. Bakura held his shoulders, rising up and floating down, moaning freely. Who cared if anyone heard? It was a festival and the entire city was drunk from the highest nobel to the lowest beggar. Who cared if they let go for this one, last, night?

Bakura bucked faster in Anen's lap. "Yes … yes … so good … that's, so, g-good- _ohhhhhh fuck_!"

Bakura came so hard that he near blacked out, reviving in Anen's lap and hardly remembering crashing against Anen's chest in a limp pile of limbs. Anen used the corner of a blanket to clean them up before anointing Bakura's asshole with more oil.

"Can I flip over again?" Bakura asked.

"Yes." Anen gave him three, long kisses before drawing back so Bakura could roll onto his belly.

Anen's entering was sharp and sent a jolt straight through Bakura's core. The entire night, from them sharing a meal, to dancing, to kissing, and now to Bakura giving himself up for Anen to have completely, all felt different from the first two nights. Perhaps because it was the end. They were both fully enjoying the moment in the way all moments should be enjoyed, and Bakura was convinced that he wouldn't know joy like this again until the Pharaoh lay dead at his feet.

"Anen!" Bakura screamed.

"Yes, Bakari, yes, shout my name."

"Anen! Anen! Oh gods, Anen!"

And he knew it was a false name, had never forgotten or deluded himself otherwise, but to Bakura, the beautiful, violet-eyed stranger would always be Bakari's Anen. And if only they really were Bakari and Anen then maybe they could have been happy forever.

"Can you come again?" Anen asked as he ploughed into Bakari's ass like a freshly flooded field waiting to be seeded.

"I'm close," Bakura groaned, stroking himself with eyes shut tight to savor the physical sensations shooting through him. "Oh Anen! A little harder! Just … like … tha- oh fuck I'm going to come!"

And Anen shouted with him, coming inside Bakura even as Bakura came into the folds of the linen below them. They both curled together on their sides afterward, awkwardly embracing, both too stubborn to move to a more comfortable position.

"Let's not sleep," Anen murmured even as he was drifting off.

"Let's run away. Let's become bandit princes terrorizing foreign lands."

"I almost could, for you." A smile softened Anen's face, although he kept his eyes closed. "But there are people that need me."

"Yeah … same."

And it was true. The spirits of Kul Elna needed Bakura. He was the only one left, and as the only survivor is was solely up to him to give his people redress.

He wasn't sure how long they slept, but it was a warm, peaceful sleep, and during those late night hours they were happy, so happy. Then Bakura heard the almost silent shuffle of footsteps and the almost ghost-like whisper of a dagger. He grabbed Anen and rolled off of their pallet, throwing a blanket over Anen to protect him and Bakura lunged for his own dagger hidden with his belt.

It was chaos, the lamps had burned out in the night and only a hint of moonlight kept the room from complete darkness, but Bakura was a thief, and not any thief but the King of Thieves. The darkness was a foster mother to him, and survival his foster father. He reached his knife and killed the first three men that attacked him. The fourth he left alive to question.

"You're not thieves. Who are you?"

The man spit in Bakura's face. "Whore!"

Bakura punched him, and jabbed the point of his copper dagger into the man's throat. The man laughed, knowing he was already dead by the look in Bakura's eyes.

"Royal… assassins…" his words caught the dagger tip and pierced him, a ribbon of blood unfurled down his throat.

"Royal?" Bakura's entire being became frozen, numb.

He turned and looked at Anen. In the scuffle, his wig had ripped away from his hair. His real hair was a molty of bright colors that somehow tied in perfectly with his beautiful, violet eyes. Tears filled Bakura's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He didn't remember pushing the knife in the would-be assassin's throat, but he must have because the man struggled, trembled, and then became dead weight as Bakura dropped him to the floor.

"Bakari, you saved my life."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you-"

"What he said! It's true! Isn't it?" Bakura screamed in rage, a louder, more heartfelt scream then any of his bed-shouts had been.

The tears ran down Anen's face. "My name's Atem. I wanted to tell you, but I'm not supposed to leave the castle without a guard." He pointed to the four corpses littering the floor. "Because of this."

"Oh, I wouldn't let anyone else harm you." Bakura grinned, but it felt broken and crooked, even to him.

"B-because you love me, right?"

"Love?" A bark of laughter, and then Bakura had him pressed against the wall, teeth bared. "Pharaoh, I _hate_ you!"

"Bakari?"

"Bakari! Yes! Bakari! Do you know why I chose that name? Noble Oath? Because I've vowed to kill you!"

The Pharaoh didn't fight or even struggle. He simply stared up at Bakura, eyes flooded with tears, making them painfully beautiful to look at. Bakura leaned close, whispering in Atem's ear.

"My name's Bakura."

"The Thief King?" he whispered back.

" _Yesss_ ," Bakura hissed, a viper ready to strike, Apep ready to eat the sun.

"I won't tell." Atem sobbed, and to his credit it was pure sorrow that caused the tears, not cowardice. "Come back with me. I'll tell them you saved my life. You can be my personal guard-"

"Your guard? Your dog!"

"No!"

"Yes! That's what I am! That's what I've always been. That starving mutt in streets- and there's never enough scraps!"

"Please, Bakura please … I love you."

And the words might have been a knife in Bakura's chest. He sobbed with Atem. They stood together, foreheads pressed, knife still to Atem's throat although not as deeply as it should have been. They stood there together and wept like children although they were grown men.

"Why you … why not anyone but _you_?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-"

"Don't apologize to me! Apologize to them!"

"Who?" Atem begged.

"My village! My people! Royal soldiers murdered them all!"

"No, no, that's not true."

"I saw it! My mother hid me and I watched them all burn!"

"That can't be. My father would never-"

"He did!"

"But not me-"

"Pharaoh is god! And when he dies the new pharaoh rises up like Horus from the dead Osiris! Your father's sins are yours!"

Atem closed his eyes, sniffing and nodded. He forced his tears to stop, which made Bakura do the same. They continued to stand together, far too close. Atem finally looked up, standing straighter.

"I'll fix it, if this is what it takes, to stop the hatred in your heart … do it."

"What?" Bakura blinked, confused, fevered, dying inside.

"Do it. If I'm god, and I've wronged you … kill me, and may the rest of the gods forgive you, Bakura."

Bakura clenched his fists, and his jaw, and held his breath. He shook, dropping the knife so he didn't accidentally cut Atem. He'd kidnap the Pharaoh, run away with him, but then his people would always suffer. He'd forgive the Pharaoh, if he could, and go home with him like a pet dog, but then his people would always suffer. He'd cut Atem's throat and then his own so they could at least die together as lovers, but then his people would always suffer.

There was no hope, and this was Bakura's best chance to ensure the Pharaoh's death, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not in the room where they'd been making love for the last three nights.

"The sun's not up yet," Bakura whispered, kissing Atem although his skin crawl at the thought of it, although his heart broke at the thought of it. "The festival doesn't end until sunrise, and I have loved you since the beginning of this festival." He kissed him again, and Atem returned the kiss with the same desperate passion.

Bakura pulled away, dressing. "And I will love you until the end of this festival." He walked back up to Atem, getting his knife before kissing Atem again. "But remember." He grabbed Atem's throat, slamming him against the wall and squeezing until Atem whimpered. " _Remember_ that as soon as the sun rises it's over, and I will _never_ forgive you. And when we see each other again it _will_ be as enemies. And when we see each other again _both_ your life and your Millennium Items are _mine_."

A last kiss. A goodbye kiss. Bakura soured it with a bite to Atem's bottom lip, sinking his teeth in until Atem whined in pain and they both tasted blood. Only then did Bakura pull away.

He reached the door and stopped, giving his star-crossed lover one last glance. "In any other life, I would have loved you, Atem. For longer than three nights."

"Bakura? What will you do with the Items? Is it only the gold you want? I can give you gold."

"What do I want? I want to take them home. I want to use them to open up to door to darkness and make a pact with the powers on the other side!"

 _And that pact was always meant to put his people's souls at rest_.

Atem's eyes widened, and Bakura could tell he liked pacts with darkness as much as he liked theft. "I can't let you do that Bakura! Despite my love for you, if you step foot into the palace as an enemy I _will_ fight you!"

Bakura laughed, his heart shattered and his mouth grinned. "Good. I look forward to the battle."

He left for good, not planning to return to that city until he was ready to raze it to the ground, and he would, he would, oh yes he would. He had no choice. Fighting the Pharaoh, killing the Pharaoh, was the only way for his village to have justice. However, regardless of the future and their fated battle, Bakura found himself wiping tears off his cheeks long after sunrise, despite the vows that his love would stop by the end of the third night.


End file.
